Ballroom Dancing
by Fading to Black
Summary: A little girl, ever overshadowed by her sisters, questions from the background. That is, until he pulls her out of her shell with a wink and a bit of flame.


**Ballroom Dancing**

**Fading To Black**

* * *

Cedrella Gwendolyn Black had always been a wishy-washy sort of girl. She was just kind of _there_, the plain child when Callidora was the vibrant one, or when Charis laughed like Christmas bells. They had always drawn the attention away from her, leaving her kind of drifting amidst the background. She was the chorus girl who had her sisters for the leads.

Her mother had often urged her to try more, that it would be _easy_ to act like Callidora, dancing like with an aesthetic grace, or Charis, and simply be fun to be around. Cedrella instead twirled her teacup around in her hands, looking for the dregs. Imprecise magic or not, Divination was interesting. And it gave her something to do to pass the endless hours.

The truth of the matter was that she _loathed_ balls.

She could act the parts of the simpering, eager-to-please pureblood woman well enough. It's just that that's all it was-an act. A mask. A falsity. Not Cedrella.

Cedrella was the girl who spent endless hours in the libraries, reading tome after ancient tome. Cedrella was the girl who might have been a Ravenclaw for her books. The Sorting Hat had been torn between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Either way, she was the smart one. The one they went to for old principles or precedents or to double-check some antiquated tradition. The one who _thought._

And, by extension, the one who _questioned._

So much of the life that surrounded her seemed antiquated, and the reasoning behind it seemed to be supremely flawed. But she was the background girl. She didn't want the attention. So she didn't question it _aloud_ and life went on. This was the first of many such realizations.

Drella, as she was nicknamed by her sisters, made the final realization about two years after the first. Perhaps 'final set' would be more accurate, actually.

It was one of those dratted society balls. The kind that she hated more than just about anything else. It required a particularly uncomfortable kind of dress, a too-formal, too-shallow sort of conversation and attempts to pretend to be dainty.

Drella had come to the rather unfortunate conclusion that she did _not_ do dainty.

There was one key difference between this ball and the usual ones, however. The Weasley family, the blood traitors of blood traitors, had been invited. It was a ball put on by the Longbottom family (who weren't fanatics, but weren't exactly blood traitors) to celebrate the betrothal of Callidora Black and Harfang Longbottom. It had been looked down upon by their mother, who had wanted Calli to marry into the Crouches, but it made Calli happy.

The first realization of the set was that she could do something that made her happy instead of parroting her family. After all, though Chari might have ended up betrothed to Crouch instead, she had always found him more tolerable than Calli.

She made the second soon after she had met the overlarge Weasley family. There were eight children with their fiery hair close to her age. They didn't seem to be much different than herself. In fact, a couple seemed like people worth getting to know. Friends, perhaps.

The second realization was that perhaps 'blood traitor' didn't mean much. It could be something she questioned. The Weasley family was nothing if not kind (or at least tolerant) of them, despite the sneers and the quiet bullying.

Drella had danced that night. Three dances, that was what was expected of her. That's all she expected to do. She asked a business partner of her parents' for the first. The second went to Harfang. But the third...

Right after the second dance ended, Septimus Weasley cut in with a wink and a flash of flaming hair and swept her off her feet.

They had danced the waltz, the next dance, together on every note. As the final notes played out, Septimus had clutched her hand, keeping her in place. Drella had blushed when he started leading her in the next dance, a much more upbeat salsa. And, following Septimus's footsteps, she had flown. That night, Cedrella had danced more dances than she ever had. After the salsa was a foxtrot, and a tango, and then another slow one.

The third realization was that she had enjoyed dancing with Septimus. Not only that, but also that she would love to do it again, even if it meant attending one of those irritating pureblood balls.

* * *

_This is an entry for the Black Beauties challenge._


End file.
